A Broken World [Rewrite] - Chapter 1 - A New World (Patreon)

If a person possessed the wings of a bird, and a constitution capable of handling the thin, frigid, air and they flew high into the sky.  Far enough that the ruins of the city directly below them could not be distinguished as ruins at all and their breath was frost as soon as it left their lungs, and they observed the land before them, everything would seem normal.

To the West, mountains stretched to reach the sky and to the East, an expanse of blue could be seen beyond the plains.  The South was hills as far as the eye could see, many of which were steep and unwelcoming climbs while others were so low and long that from the ground it would be hard to notice them at all.  Only the North seemed out of place, the plains that extended from the hills of the South and the sea to the East northward, but even if you were look in the light of noon, you would only see those plains disappear into the shadows that blurred the North.

Aside from the shadows, a normal landmass.  While the shadows were unsettling and unnatural, humans deceive themselves with great skill.  That winged person might think it a mere trick of the light or a product of sheer distance.  However, if they descended down to the city below, they would soon find the world they observed was anything but normal and only looked that way from a certain place and perspective.

As the altitude drops, it would become increasingly obvious that the rather than one continuous land mass, gigantic islands of rock and earth were hanging in the air.  Previously hidden from view, the person would see smaller islands that slowly drifted under and around the larger landmasses that seemed fixed in place.  Even more mysteriously, perhaps, was that it would soon become clear that some of the rivers that had appeared to be on the ground, were not.

Twisting snakes of water, gigantic and filled with mysterious fish that would sometimes leap from the water and extend their fins to glide to another- if they were not grabbed by the large, heron like birds, that despite their appearance, hung like bats from the bottom of smaller islands with viscous claws that were sharp and strong enough to dig into all but the hardest stone.

And further down, beyond all the fantastical sights?  No one knows, there was nothing but empty air that eventually disappeared into sea of white clouds kilometers below the lowest island.  Sometimes the twisting rivers would impact the floating islands, forming great rivers across their surface only to drop off that surface in mighty waterfalls that disappeared into the White Sea below.  In other places, humongous pillars of water streamed up from the clouds like the most gigantic waterspouts ever seen.  Sometimes, parts of the White Sea would darken, and anyone close could hear the booms of thunder and see the occasional bolt strike at the islands above.

However, there is no person that is capable of seeing these sights.  The most mankind has managed is the occasional glimpse as they travel the islands on boats designed to travel the fantastical rivers.  But that is not to say that humanity can not witness wonders, because the city that our imaginary person would have descended into was the ruined city of Uri and even in ruins its glory could not be denied.

The hands of the builders and artisans who crafted it were so skilled that even in neglect and decay it was artful.  The magics of even the least of the cities countless enchantments enduring centuries beyond their makers.  Magical lights and fountains that spewed sparkling water to show scenes of soldiers and battle, victory and conquest- both lasting until the stone that houses them falls to dust.

But even these magical ruins would fail to catch a person’s eye, because today was the first day, of the First Quarter, of the first year, in a new era, the Fourth Era and both the humans and their mortal enemies that dwelled in the shadows in the North knew what that meant.

The city center housed a truly massive cathedral, which had artistry and beauty even beyond the other wonders of human architecture that surrounded it.  If they could, people would happily travel just to see this marvel- to see the high domed ceilings covered in paintings  so lifelike you could swear they would come to live and walk off the stone.

Beautiful murals covered the walls, seemingly put together from precious metals and stones.  It was a particularly artful example of which that the fully armoured man flew into, with an impact strong enough to crack the mural he struck and deform the heavy plate the man had been wearing.  Needless to say, the impact killed the man inside.

The dilapidated beauty, wonderful though it was, could never catch the eye of anyone because it is human nature to see horror instead of beauty if both are present in one place.  Indeed, to try and ignore horror for beauty may sound good, but the negative emotions associated with horror and the attention it demanded were there for a reason.

In the center of this ruined city, in front of the still glorious cathedral, stood a large group men dressed head to toe in steel plate.  Among them, a few had more ornate pieces of armor, and in any other situation it would be easy to see the slight glow of their enchantments that, while obviously weaker than the ancient craftsmanship on display in the city, were still respectable.

Indeed, one hundred soldiers armoured like medieval knights, twenty of which possessing arms and armour enhanced by magic would be an impressive force.  But the foes they faced matched or even exceeded them in terms of their imposing mien.

Most of the horde defied description, just a swarm of twisted and corrupted things.  Reaching maybe one hundred forty centimeters in height, give or take depending on how twisted the individual was, they let loose ear piercing screeches as they threw themselves suicidally at the humans.  What had they been before?  No one knew, but these Twistlings made the bulk of the Demon’s forces whenever they fought.  They were not supposed to win, the Twistlings lives were spent merely to exhaust the humans.

Behind the hundreds of Twistlings, the real forces lurked.  Firgue demons waited, noxious, fuming, liquid dripping from their mouths and beside them were dozens of the Bent.  The Bent were corrupted, well, anything- besides Twistlings that is.  No matter what they were before corruption, they became monsters with incredible strength afterwards.  It was a Bent Bull that had tossed the armoured soldier into the wall as casually as someone might toss an apple to a friend.

But these were still lesser threats.  Twistlings and The Bent were not even true demons, and the Firgue were among the weakest of their race.  The demon in command was…  Perhaps it would be the result if a thin human was grabbed by an evil god and streched into a longer and thinner shape, but the legs, and arms, and forehead were all stretched wrong and were much longer and thinner than one would expect even from the emaciated looking torso.  Its skin was gray, and its arms and legs were tipped with needle-like claws of ebony black.  Its eyes, they seemed to be pools of shadows and looking into them would cause even the most stalwart man to become stunned and frozen, reduced to mere prey before a predator.  With its mouth closed, it was impossible to tell that the creatures lips did not cover the entirety of its mouth it could open which split its head ear to ear and revealed rows and rows of teeth and a freakishly long tongue that seemed to move as if it had a life of its own.

Humans called its race a Gray Starver, and the species had a reputation for intelligence and cunning.  They were often seen leading demons on the field, and today was no exception.  But despite its stick figure like body, the veterans chosen for this mission knew better than to underestimate it.  Standing over three and a half meters tall, the wiry muscles that lay under its tough, grey, hide made it the physically strongest thing on the battlefield.

But it wouldn’t engage the knights in melee range.  No, it merely held up its clawed hand and a ball of black fire formed within for him to toss into the fray.

“Hold the line, men!”  The soldier in the most ornate, and most heavily enchanted armor, called out.  “Today we fight for the glory of humanity!  For victory!”

The ball of black fire was blocked by his enchanted shield, and the Bent that the Gray Starver sent to the frontline was struck down in a single powerful, skilled, strike.

The soldiers answered their leader with a roar and pushed the monsters back.  The secret to their morale in the face of such monsters?  They were all dead men.  Every soldier was a volunteer who had lost everything to the constant wars and they had nothing to return to, but they were not planning to return.  No, they would hold the line until the signal and then their last assault would buy the other team the time they needed to retreat.

These dead men would fall striking a blow against the demons and striking a blow for humanity’s victory.

“Today we die!”  He shouted over the din, “But no man is allowed to die until he has brought down at least five of the bastards!”

Even the demons were cowed by the men’s ferocity, stunned by something they only very rarely saw.  However, the demons had no idea how far they had pushed humanity and they had no idea what happened when certain madmen got pushed.

They would learn.

Inside the hall, beneath the dome, in the exact center of the cathedral more soldiers stood as watchful guards over the man shackled to the floor in front of them.  The shackled man was in the middle of an ornate circle filled with designs that gave off the impression of some language, an ancient and forgotten language.  Not that the man could see with the hood over his head and his head chained down like his arms and legs.  Beneath the leather sack that served as a hood, the mans mouth was stuffed and gagged.

A criminal condemned to death, he would serve humanity at the end of his wretched life.  Perhaps this would serve as atonement for the sins the man had committed, but that was a matter for priests to decide and they were conspicuous in their absence from this group.  They had cautioned the woman, the young woman who at times seemed barely out of girlhood and at other times seemed old beyond her years, that it was not a mission that could be survived.

But she had convinced her brother to move a portion of the army as a distraction and had gathered soldiers all too willing to die for a cause, no matter how insane it might be and she had made it here.  In moments, the ritual would be complete.  The magic passed down her family line, she had learned how to perform this task before she had reached the age of seven, just for this moment that appeared only once every thousand years.

As the chant reached its climax, Terrasin deVon Almistraus cut her palm with the ritual silver dagger and watched as her blood fell onto the circle below.  The circles glow had been growing as the ritual progressed, and as her blood touched the circle it grew brighter still.

Outside the stained glass windows, winged demons- unable to be stopped by the soldiers on the ground- pressed themselves against the panes.  Striking, clawing, trying to find a way inside.  But they were too late, a blinding flash of light burst from the circle.  The summoning ritual was complete.

-Somewhere in the Modern World-

Lucas’s confidence the closer he had gotten to this meeting.  A month ago, he had been able to laugh about this and had been assured that everything would go fine.  Three weeks ago, he was smiling and fairly certain things would be ok.  Two weeks, then one week, then yesterday- Lucas had been a nervous wreck!

Across from him was a banker, and this meeting was quite possibly the single most important thing in his life.  He had prepared more for today than anything else in his life as well, a month ago he had even been able to joke that he had been preparing for this since he was eight years old.

That was when he had decided that he was going to grow up and become a scientist, and from that point over two decades had passed.  In fact, it was almost three decades now.

Despite that, Lucas was in a cold sweat and trying his best not to show it.  However, his acting was shitty and he knew no one would be fooled by it and he cursed himself for it.  If his frayed nerves caused him to waste three decades of feverish preparation- best not to even think about it.

He had endured a lot.  They said it was impossible to work a full time job and go to school full time, and if Lucas was honest, they were right.  Years of eighteen to twenty hour days and the minimal sleep that schedule allowed him had all but ruined what might have been considered a naturally gifted physique.

But the degrees framed on his wall was proof of his victory, even over his own health.

A doctorate in genetics and a doctorate in microbiology and a desire to start his own company focusing on commercial genetics.  It was a dream he had held for years, and with a loan today he could make it happen.  And the possibilities were endless.

Love dogs, but happen to be allergic to them?  Not an issue, a bit of a splice, a shot and presto, a hypoallergenic golden retriever.  A cat person instead of a dog person?  Not any real difference to Lucas.

Want blue roses for that special occasion?  Done, and as an added service for our loyal customers it produces its own natural insecticide to prevent pests from devouring them!

Or how about corn that produces butter and salt in the individual kernels?  Buttered popcorn without actually ever having to add butter!  If you can afford it, we can make it happen.

And then Lucas planned to take the money from commercial side and use it to fund more scientific pursuits.  But he was just daydreaming now, and he cleared those thoughts from his mind.  He did not want to get too invested in these hopes only to have them cruely dashed by reality.  Fortunately for him, the banker did seem to be on board the more he looked through the literature Lucas had brought.

Granted, decades of nothing but work and study had left Lucas’s ability to read people a little underdeveloped- but surely it wasn’t that bad.

“I admit,” the banker said as he leaned back and set the documents in front of himself as he looked across the desk at Lucas.  “I was very skeptical when I first heard about this.  I didn’t think technology had progressed enough for this to be possible, but your application was thorough and understandable even to a layman such as myself, and with your qualifications you are anything but a layman.  You certainly have the education to back your claims.

The banker paused, and Lucas found himself praying fervently to whatever god might accept an agnostic like him.

A moment later, the banker leaned forward again.  “Alright, you’ve convinced me.”  He took his ornate monogramed pen and signed the document in front of him.  “Honestly, I don’t know if you will make it work- but if you do, the bank stands to make a killing off this, and I am certain you will find a market for this somewhere.”

“Thank you sir!”  Lucas’s smile was wide and genuine and he shook hands with the banker as they both stood up.  “You won’t regret this!”

A few slight formalities later, and Lucas nearly skipping down the bank steps almost humming to himself in excitement,  He could hardly stand when had to wait in the elevator, feeling like a hyperactive child as he exited the automatic doors and down the steps to the parking lot.

The plan for his life, the effort of three decades of work and studies grinding him down, it was all crystalizing before him.  He could see the path of his life right before his eyes.

And then everything went white.